


It's Always the Quiet Types

by evil_whimsey



Series: Blackbird [1]
Category: Ouran High School Host Club
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-13
Updated: 2011-06-13
Packaged: 2017-10-20 09:36:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/211344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evil_whimsey/pseuds/evil_whimsey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternate timeline for Mori, some development for Arai, and eventually a story about duty and devotion, soulmates, and remaking one's own destiny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Part One

 

Arai was the classic boy-next-door type.  Just a regular friendly high schooler with a untidy hair, an easygoing grin, and coltish limbs likely to grow a few inches yet.  He got decent marks in school, played on the soccer team, was well-liked by his friends, and worked summers in his uncle's grocery in town.  He was a perfectly average boy in every way; hardly anything remarkable about him at all.

Except that he was a  _commoner_ , sitting right there at the table with them, and to the Host Club (or Tamaki, anyway), this made Arai intrinsically interesting, before they necessarily even got to know him.  Also, he was a treasure trove of amusing stories about Haruhi from middle school which--at least until Hikaru had the bad manners to explode over the whole thing--pleased Tamaki to no end.

 

*  * 

Looking back on it, Arai understood that no one had expected that unfortunate scene.  It had been clear that Hikaru's complaints were straining Haruhi's patience, but it had rattled them all when that patience actually snapped.  Hikaru's last harsh comment toward Arai was hardly out of his mouth,  _Haruhi's heart has no room in it for him!_ , when she launched herself at him, delivering a sharp slap that echoed off the walls, and sent a shockwave through the room.

 _That isn't for you to decide!_  she had shouted back, feet planted, vibrating with rage.  Everyone could see the force they had felt, rebounding in Hikaru's eyes, as Haruhi's handprint bloomed bright on his cheek.  And then the audience all started looking desperately elsewhere;  Tamaki, Hunny.  Even that cool Kyouya, Arai remembered, had stared down at the table, at the floor, at his hands in his lap, like he was hoping an escape hatch might conveniently appear.

Arai had to piece all these details together later, because in the midst of the crisis, as it all unfolded, he'd been totally consumed with guilt.  He'd thought he could finally reassure himself that Haruhi was alright; she had a good (if eccentric) group of friends who truly cared for her, and it seemed her experience at Ouran so far had been positive, despite his worries.  But then he'd stumbled in and intruded on the group somehow.  In the attempt to be friendly, he'd destroyed some delicate balance he hadn't even been aware of.  Arai felt so miserable he could hardly think, and he didn't know where to begin apologizing, or how.

There had been more shouting, and then Hikaru was pounding headlong up the stairs, his twin close on his heels and calling after him.  For a quick instant, Arai had thought about ducking out, while everyone was preoccupied.  He could just ease his chair back, and slip away through the kitchen.  Maybe call Haruhi tomorrow and apologize for whatever he'd done to make things go wrong.  He still wasn't entirely sure what he'd done, but there'd be time on the ride back to town to figure that out.

He probably wouldn't have done it, gone sneaking off when no one was looking.  Partly because it would've been rude, and cowardly.  But there was also the issue of being caught;  for even as he wavered with the temptation to leave, Arai became distinctly aware of someone watching him.

It was the tallest of the Ouran boys, the one that the smallest of them called Takashi, and the rest called Mori-senpai.  He hadn't said two words since they'd all been introduced, and mostly stood still as a statue, taking in everything around him.  He was observing Arai in that same way, with serious dark eyes, and though Arai couldn't interpret those eyes at all, he could feel their weight on him.  

If he hadn't been so unhappy, the look might have made Arai very uncomfortable.  As it was, he couldn't feel any worse, or any more uncomfortable, and if Mori was judging him with that look, he probably had every right to.

And then Tamaki said something that got his attention:  _Their world is still so small_.  Arai guessed he meant the twins, and in the back of his mind, he wondered what the history was there.  It had never occurred to him that really outlandishly rich people might live in small worlds.  The idea didn't make sense; didn't the world practically belong to them?

As though he'd read Arai's mind, the tall guy with the dark watchful look shifted his eyes to the others for a second, before turning back to Arai and giving him a tiny shrug.  It was only just then, that Arai realized no one  _but_  Mori was looking at him.  Tamaki was gazing up toward the top of the stairs, like a disappointed parent.  Kyouya and Hunny were both looking at Haruhi, who was staring off at nothing, deflated after her outburst, and a little confused.

It soon occurred to him that everyone was uncomfortable, but no one seemed particularly intent on blaming him, and his guilt eased off marginally.  It felt like they were all sitting at odd angles to one another, and no one knew quite what to say, or how to lighten the mood.  Considering the scene before, a lighter mood didn't quite seem appropriate anyway.  He hoped Haruhi's friends could work things out among themselves soon, but he was getting the impression that he himself couldn't contribute much here.

Carefully, he pushed his chair back from the table.  "I'm sorry to be abrupt, but I should probably get going.  My uncle will be wondering where I've been."

"Oh," said Haruhi, looking up quickly, like she'd just recalled there were other people present.  
Tamaki shifted gears a little more quickly.  "You'll come back again and visit, won't you?"  Looking so honestly hopeful at the prospect that Arai was taken aback.

"I....uh, sure.  Yeah, thanks," he stammered.  He wasn't at all sure of his welcome to the group overall, but Tamaki's offer made him feel a little better, at least.

"Good," put in Hunny, looking like he meant it too, and then Mori nodded, his steady gaze still trained on Arai.  It was a look that stayed with him for a good long while, along with all the other excitement and strain of that day, and before he left, he saw it once more, when Mori actually spoke to him.

He'd wheeled his bike around on the walkway, with Haruhi and her friends (minus Kaoru and Hikaru) gathered to see him off.  Mori was looking over Arai's bike casually, a little apart from the others, and just as Arai was twisting back the kickstand with his heel, he heard, "It wasn't your fault."

"Huh?" he turned, and Mori looked up from the wheel spokes, gave him that same little shrug from before.  
"Nobody blames you.  Hikaru has....things to learn about friendship."

Arai never got him to elaborate further, never got the chance, for Misuzu emerged just then, fluttering and trilling, and Mori faded unobtrusively into the background once more.

He stayed in Arai's thoughts for some time, though, on the long ride back to town.

 

*  *

 

A few days later, Arai's uncle gave him the afternoon off, and a huge ripe watermelon.  
"Take it up to the pension," he'd suggested.  "Spend some time with your friends.  Give Misuzu-san my regards."

Since there was no real reason to decline, at least not any he could explain to his uncle, Arai climbed on his bike, put the melon in the basket, and set off for Misuzu's.  He was nervous, for the first part of the ride.  Uncertain whether he'd really be welcome with Haruhi and her friends, and frankly worried about dealing with Hikaru again.

What if there was another scene like before?  What if they'd only invited him back to be polite, and didn't really expect him to take the invitation?  His doubts turned round and round in his head, like his bike wheels spinning round and round, taking him down the road that led out of town.

It was cooler in the hills around the pension, and far quieter than the busy tourist area.  And since worrying wasn't really getting him anywhere, Arai decided to let it go and just enjoy the ride.  Regardless of how things turned out, at least he'd had a day off when the weather was perfect for bike riding, and if nothing else, he could enjoy that.

 

*  *

"No, no, no," Tamaki was laughing.  "We're a  _Host_  Club.  I thought Haruhi told you."

"What?" Arai spluttered, his cheeks going red.  "You're joking.  Oh God, you're not."  He clamped his mouth shut, realizing too late he'd spoken rudely in his surprise.  But it was just too impossible for him picture....a host club?  At Ouran?  He couldn't reconcile it, no matter how hard he tried.  He'd always imagined a host club being some kind of bar, or smoky lounge with garish colored lights, and scantily dressed waitresses serving cocktails, and....what kind of school was Ouran High, anyway?

"It isn't quite what you think," said Kyouya, slipping into the seat next to Arai, opposite Tamaki.  Arai was on the verge of asking how Kyouya-san could possibly know what he was thinking, but the young man crossed his legs neatly, took a sip from his tea, and gave Arai this sidelong look from behind his glasses.  A look of intelligence and seriousness beyond his years, which suggested to Arai that Kyouya probably knew what most people were thinking, before they said so.

"We mostly just talk to the customers," Tamaki said.  "We serve coffee and refreshments, give them a chance to unwind after classes.  You meet all sorts of interesting people, too.  Anyone's welcome to visit with us."

"With the proper qualifications, of course," Kyouya murmured into his tea.  
"Qualifications?" Arai asked.  
"There's a modest booking fee, to cover overhead," Kyouya shrugged.  "And a brief background check.  Information to help us better serve our guests, of course."

Okay, so it was less like a seedy cocktail bar, and more like a....tea party, or something.  A tea party you bought tickets to.  And sent in a resume first, maybe.  Arai was okay with that, but.....

"I don't get it.  Where does Haruhi fit in?  I mean, you're all guys, so your--uh--guests are girls right?  So are there--um--male guests too?"  It would help, he thought, if he could just quit blushing about it.  Nobody else was blushing, after all.

"Oh, we're very discreet about our male--," Tamaki began, breaking off with a start and glaring at Kyouya.  "Ow, what was that for?  No need to kick."

"Discretion," Kyouya said, and sipped delicately at his tea.

Out of all the time he spent with the Host Club and Haruhi, that was really the only conversation where Arai felt tempted by insecurity.  Like his own friends back home, these boys had their in-jokes, their hints and subtexts of things that Arai couldn't understand because he wasn't one of them.  Putting the whole bizarre Host Club thing aside, he was conscious of even greater differences beneath the surface.  

It wasn't just that they went to a different school from him, or that they had their friends and interests, and he had other ones.  These boys' entire lives were different from his, on a scale he couldn't even imagine.  He saw it in their mannerisms, heard it in their crisp, educated accents.  Tamaki had a full-time etiquette instructor, of all things, and nobody else batted an eyelash when he brought it up.  And out of all of them, Haruhi was the only one who actually had the least idea of how to cut up the watermelon he'd brought.  The others had dropped everything and gathered 'round to watch her do it, too, like it was something amazing.

Having thought all that through, Arai was hesitant to ask any more questions.  Something told him that looking too closely at the differences between himself and Haruhi's friends might not be a wise thing.  If he knew too much, he might not be able to be himself around them.  He'd end up feeling compared in anything he said or did, and surely inadequate in the comparison.

So he settled in to enjoy the scenes playing out around him instead, grinning at Haruhi trying to convince the twins to give her back the garden hose (they turned out to be good guys, Hikaru and Kaoru.  Even though they never seemed to sit still).  Next to him, Tamaki was prattling on to Kyouya about whatever popped in to his head, evidently; Arai heard something about a theme day, a 'commoner' picnic on school grounds, and Kyouya nodded and hmm'ed as he methodically picked every last seed from his watermelon with a fork, before tasting it.

Hunny was making the rounds then, offering seconds on melon from the tray his friend Mori carried.  The bigger boy followed the smaller like a long afternoon shadow, everywhere he went, and Arai couldn't help thinking,  _Bodyguard_?  The guy had the size for it alright, and there was something about the way he moved, easy and sure of himself, that Arai recognized from the endurance athletes and martial arts students at his school.  Only he had that totally serious focus about him, which didn't quite fit with the typical high school jock attitude.  If anything, Mori looked like a professional.  Like whatever he did following Hunny around, he took it seriously.

In spite of his earlier qualms, Arai wondered how you asked about something like that.  If Mori was a professional, then a direct question didn't really seem the way to go.  And if he wasn't Hunny's bodyguard, then the question would probably be offensive or something.  But Arai hadn't forgotten how Mori had looked at him last time, when all the rest of them were looking elsewhere.  And Mori was the only one to see Arai's discomfort, and come to reassure him directly.  So Arai was curious about him, naturally.  Maybe he could try some casual inquiries, work around to it gradually.

"So, um," he turned to Tamaki, during an opportune lull. "What other clubs does Ouran sponsor?"   
"Oh, all kinds," Tamaki told him.  "There's the Tennis Club, and Chess, the Art Club, the Newspaper Club--." 

Kyouya interjected a small opinionated noise at that, and Tamaki grinned.    
"Can't forget the Football Club," he added.  Kyouya rolled his eyes dismissively, and Arai, recognizing a hint of rivalry when he saw it, was intrigued.  But he saved that for later.

"Are there other, like, athletic clubs?"  
"Sure," Tamaki answered.  "Mori-senpai leads the Kendo Club--"  
 _Ah-ha!_  Arai thought, knowing he'd scored his answer.

And then Tamaki was saying, "Hey, that's right!" Sudden interest dawning.  "You're on the soccer team at your school, huh?"

"Oh, yeah," said Arai, wondering if they could get back to kendo somehow.  Then he sort of forgot about it, because Tamaki turned this slow, appraising look on him, and suddenly Arai was understanding a little more than he'd wanted to, about how this Host thing really worked.  

It became fairly obvious just then, why a bunch of girls might want to come hang out after school with a guy like this, especially if he gave them his undivided attention, like he was giving Arai.  There was something to be said for being around someone like Tamaki, who was bright and charismatic, and just a little larger than life, yet who acted like he had all the time in the world, to learn everything about you.

Yeah, Arai understood.  It was all he could do not to break out in a sweat, actually.  How did Haruhi deal with this every day?

Tamaki leaned in, with a speculative gleam in his half-closed eyes, and those eyes, uh-oh.  
"So.  Are you any good?" 

 Arai swallowed.  "I--uh, I guess?"  What were they talking about?

Kyouya cleared his throat, and Arai jumped.    
"Tamaki," Kyouya cautioned, "you aren't--"

"You ever play Kick The Can?"  Tamaki asked, completely ignoring Kyouya, who only sighed and shook his head wearily.  Like he was used to it, actually.

 

*  *  *  *  *


	2. Chapter 2

Part Two

 

Mori was approaching the corner of the guest house with the garden hose, when the can came whistling in sideways, thunked off the wall siding, and landed at his feet.  It would've been Tamaki's turn to kick, then.  

He heard cheers, and teasing, and just as he was about to retrieve the can, he saw Haruhi's friend Arai come jogging into view, laughing at some shouted comment behind him.

He came to a quick, neat stop before Mori, grinned and caught his breath.  
"Hey," he said.  "There you are."  

His hair was disordered from running, and there were grass stains on his shorts, and all at once, Mori concluded that he liked Arai.  He felt anyone who could tolerate Hikaru's defensive insults with good grace, and then come back and endure hours of Tamaki's whimsical games--and apparently enjoy himself--had to be a decent sort of character.

Shifting the garden hose on his shoulder, Mori bent down decisively, and grabbed the can off the grass.  
"Thanks," Arai said, when he handed it over.  "So you coming to join us?"

"I'm helping Haruhi clean up," Mori answered.  The help had consisted so far of finding where the twins had hidden the garden hose, keeping tabs on his cousin's cake plates, and periodically rescuing the game can from the uncontrolled anarchy of Tamaki's Starlight Kick.  All that seemed a little complicated to explain, though.

"Oh, she should've said something."  Arai moved to set the can aside. "Here, let me give you a hand."  
"It's no trouble," Mori shrugged, thinking Haruhi would probably appreciate it if her friends--Tamaki and the twins, particularly--entertained themselves a little longer.  "Go enjoy yourself."

"But you're--are you sure?"  From out in the yard, they could hear the others clamoring for the game to resume.  
"Yes," Mori said.  "This won't take long."

Arai looked down at the can, grinned and shook his head.  "I haven't done this since I was kid," he confessed.

"Tamaki has that effect on people," Mori ventured, and when Arai laughed outright, he found himself actually smiling back.

"You guys aren't what I expected at all," said Arai, still laughing as he turned and jogged back to the game.

Watching him go, Mori decided that Arai was the sort of boy who took sunlight and fresh air and converted them into pure, boundless vitality.  It was a quality he approved of, and he figured further that while Arai probably wasn't much at home in rooms with chairs, books, and tea sets, when you put him outside with a reason to run about, he practically glowed.

From what he'd seen of the ongoing game, it was clear to Mori that Arai was a natural athlete, possessing an energy to rival even Tamaki's, and with enough focus and training to put it to good use.  What interested Mori was that Arai was also an excellent sport, one of those players who made sure everyone in the game enjoyed it as much as he did.  So all in all, yes.  He liked Arai.

Having exhausted his speech quota for the day, Mori said little else, but the grin that had surfaced in his conversation with Arai never quite left him.  It wasn't right out where everyone could see, but he could feel it lingering around the corners of his mouth all afternoon and evening, fizzing inside him like a sweet cold drink, until he finally slept.  It was a novel feeling, and one he thought he could get used to, given time.

 _There you are_ , Arai had said, like maybe he'd been looking for Mori especially, hoping he'd see him.  It was just a fancy on his part of course, but it was nice to think about.  Just the idea, that someone he liked instinctively might like him back as well.  Someone outside his usual circle, who didn't know his family name, and didn't know his history, and had no idea of the personality others had invented for him--partly thanks to the Host Club, and partly because he'd never offered them much else to go on.

There had been times at school, when he'd passed groups of girls in the corridor, looking over when they all went conspicuously silent.  He'd looked at them, looking back at him, and was startled that he couldn't recognize the person he saw in their eyes.  

Mori didn't know how the others in the Host Club adapted to being mistaken for a persona; personally, he didn't care for it much.  In some regards, he supposed it was easier when people invented him for themselves, assuming he was entirely stoic, introverted, and untamed.  It saved having to explain that actually, he was extraordinarily particular about who he trusted, and who he liked, and all the reasons behind that.

But sometimes it got lonely and, to use Haruhi's favorite term, bothersome.  Periodically he wished for someone new to come along, who understood him on his own terms.  Someone who didn't need to invent, and didn't need it explained to them.  His cousin understood, of course, but then they'd spent their whole lives in each other's company.  And it wasn't that Mori was ungrateful, it just seemed that, well, shouldn't there be someone else?  At least one other person?

 _There you are_.  A new face turning the corner, glad to find him.  It would be nice.

*  * 

Their last day in Karuizawa dawned crisp and clear.  Mori had watched the sunrise from his bedroom window-seat, feeling the breeze drying the nighttime damp, breathing in the subtlest hint of autumn from the earth and the trees, like one delicate thread of tarnished gold in a bolt of deep forest green.  He saw the sky go from grey to violet to peach, until the sun crested the mountains, spilling brightness over everything, warming his face, warming all the world.

Mitsukuni wandered in not long after that, still in his pajamas, hair tousled, faint sheet-creases down his cheek.  Mori made room for him on the window seat, and he clambered up with his bunny pinned under one arm.  Settled in and laid his head against Mori's knee.  He yawned and dozed, and gradually awakened in earnest, while Mori counted birds, and butterflies, and thought that really, this was a perfect day to just watch the grass grow.

Finally, Mitsukuni stretched a little, and rubbed his eyes.  "Haruhi invited us to breakfast," he mumbled.  "She's making sticky buns."

"Hmm." Mori commented after awhile.  And then, "You want to go?"

"I'd like to try her sticky buns," his cousin said thoughtfully.  "But I'm tired.  I've missed my naps."  He sighed.  "I think I'm ready to go home."

"Oh," said Mori.  He watched a white butterfly coast by on the breeze, drop suddenly off the air current, and beat its wings frantically to rise again.  "Kyouya's leaving today."

"Yes, after breakfast.  We should go and say goodbye to him."

"Hmm," agreed Mori.  "You could nap at the pension."  
"Yeah," said Mitsukuni.  "I might."  He sat up and stretched, like a sleepy yellow kitten with rumpled fur.  "But sticky buns, first."

When he turned back to the window, Mori saw the white butterfly was long gone.

*  *

It turned out that Haruhi and Hikaru had previously agreed to return to the town, with the rest of the group, before vacation was over.  Tamaki and Kaoru were keen to join them for sightseeing and souvenir shopping, but Mitsukuni gently declined.

"Takashi and I can stay and keep Misuzu-chan company," he said.  And Misuzu, overhearing, suggested they could help arrange flowers for the guest rooms.    
Mitsukuni smiled.  "That would be perfect."  Mori nodded his agreement, and it was settled.

After the others had set out for town, he and Mitsukuni stationed themselves on the shaded part of the veranda, surrounded by chrysanthemums, daisies, larkspur, and Queen Anne's Lace.  Mori trimmed each and every one of the stalks carefully down to size, and left the mysterious aesthetics of the arranging to his cousin.  Misuzu kept them supplied with cold drinks, and the occasional tidbit from the kitchen, and it was altogether a pleasant, restful way to spend the morning.

When the project was done, they had a light lunch, after which Mitsukuni went dozy-eyed and vague, rousing strange motherly instincts in Misuzu, who simply would not be dissuaded from preparing the boy a quiet room upstairs, for his nap.  Mitsukuni yawned gratefully to them, from a bed piled with feather pillows and quilts, pitcher of cold water on the nightstand, window cracked an inch for air, shades drawn low.  Then he was out like a light, and Mori returned to the veranda alone.

Wandering down the low stone steps, he caught sight of the picket fence across the lawn, still haphazardly cobbled together from Tamaki's none-too-skillful repair attempt.  It looked odd and wrong to him, spoiling the humble tidiness of the rest of the lawn, and Mori felt compelled to fix it.  Make it right again.  Misuzu took such pride in his little pension, and it would reflect very poorly on Mori and his friends, if they were to leave a bad job like this behind.

He knew where the toolshed was, and it didn't take long to find the hammer and nails Tamaki had brought out previously.  Soon enough, he was out at the fence, shoes and shirt off, and carefully prying a surfeit of nails from the half-dozen misplaced picket slats.  He worked quietly, patiently, not wishing to draw attention to the project, but wanting only to set it to rights.

He lost track of time, enjoying the simple deliberation of the work and its small details; the weight of the hammer in his hand, the warm sun and cool breeze on his bare shoulders, the occasional warble of a songbird punctuated by quick sharp taps of hammer on nail.

Perhaps it was the long silence of the songbird, or a subtle difference in the echo of the windchime by the back door.  Or maybe it was just that sixth sense that anyone could feel when they're being watched.  At any rate, Mori knew he wasn't alone for a few minutes before he finally lowered his hammer, turned and identified his visitor.

Arai had been paused at the veranda steps, shielding his eyes from the sun with one hand, a covered basket dangling from the other.  His stance suggested he'd been standing like that for some time; relaxed, but purposefully still, in the manner of someone taking in a landscape they wanted to remember, or a particularly arresting portrait in a gallery.

He didn't move when Mori turned, and for a few seconds they simply looked at each other in silence;  one boy poised thoughtfully in a bright wash of sun, his shadow thrown long behind him, and the other boy kneeling shirtless in grass and shade, by a white picket fence.

And then the breeze huffed across the yard, spinning a few broken notes from the wind chimes, and both boys drew in their breath at the same instant.

"Takashi-san," said Arai, with that smile like unexpected good luck.  
 _Golden boy_ , Mori thought, taking in the color of the sun on him, the way it settled like a luminous second skin on his arms and face.  Even though he'd watched the dawn hours ago, Mori couldn't help the feeling that now the day had begun.

"Hi," he finally said.  Arai grinned back, and there was an interesting pause, as each of them tried to find the thing that came next.

Mori was well aware that his ingrained tendency to simply watch and wait mostly unnerved people, but he couldn't help it.  Conversations were work, and one almost never learned as much talking as they did by staying quiet and observing, anyway.  When it came down to it, he would always rather look and understand, than talk.  

At that very moment, for instance, he could see that Arai had made it past whatever had stilled him on the steps.  Now he was ready to either advance or retreat; he just wasn't sure which would be best.  He didn't look unnerved though, which was promising.  Maybe Mori could help him out, here.

"Haruhi went to the village, for shopping," he provided.  
"Oh?" said Arai, sounding surprised, but not especially disappointed.  "She didn't go alone, did she?"

"No.  Tamaki and the Hitachiins went along."  
"Hmm," Arai nodded, and Mori could see him counting off the Host Club roster in his head.  "And your other friends, Hunny-san and Kyouya-san?"  
"Kyouya left early.  Business in Tokyo.  Mitsukuni is napping upstairs."

"So--," Arai's glance took in the lawn, the trees, and finally the fence where Mori knelt.  "--so it's just us then."  
Mori nodded, and surprised himself wondering if that would suffice.  Arai's body language had drawn in slightly; he looked uncertain.

Then he said, "I guess in that case, um.  Could I lend a hand with your project, there?"  
Mori surprised himself a second time, when he let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.  
"Sure," he said.  And did Arai even know those instant grins of his were contagious?  Of course Mori wouldn't mind the help.  Or the company.

*  * 

"This is good work," said Arai, trailing his fingers down the slats Mori had replaced.  His hands were brown against the whitewashed wood, and a little rough from sun and work.  

Two of the fingers were crooked, Mori saw, slightly thicker at the joint.  Broken playing soccer, Mori guessed, and for some obscure reason, that pleased him.  He'd broken a few of his own fingers in kendo training, years back, and it was almost like having something in common.  Something apart from all the rest of his acquaintance; it wasn't money, or bloodlines, or an exclusive school and a guaranteed future.  It was different.  Personal.

And then Arai was looking around, asking, "Hey, where's your spirit level?" And Mori blinked himself back to the task at hand.

"Oh.  Couldn't find one."  Hoping that wouldn't be a problem.  He'd been working from eye and instinct all along, and only just then realized that he hadn't taken a step back to see if the workmanship was turning out straight.

Arai's look was pure astonishment.  "You did all this without a level?"  Glancing from Mori to the, well, straight _looking_ fence.  Though now he was having doubts.

He shrugged, embarrassed.  Maybe there was still enough daylight to do it all over again.

"But it's perfect," Arai declared, with a note of near-exasperation that had Mori forgetting his embarrassment, and looking for an explanation instead.  For a wonder, the boy caught the unspoken question.

"I've been building produce crates for my uncle all summer.  And it's still all I can do to drive one nail in straight."  He crossed his arms, looking stern.  "Don't tell me your school has some elite carpentry club, too, where you learn this kind of work."

Arai was dead serious, like he was ready to shake the secret out of Mori if he had to, and Mori couldn't resist.  No one had ever looked at him like that before.  He threw back his head and laughed, a robust, full-body laugh that swelled up out of him, and went on and on.  After a second or two, Arai was chuckling, then laughing right along, holding his sides, his cheeks going pink.

 _I like you_ , Mori thought, still observing the boy, through a rush of tipsy pleasure.  He'd never thought that laughing in the grass with someone, over something perfectly silly even, could feel like the high point of his entire summer.  But it did.  It felt brilliant, actually, like one of the best things that had happened to him in ages, and already he was looking forward to trying it again.

*  *

"Look," Mori finally said, when he got hold of himself, and took up the hammer again.  "It's easy."

And it was.  With Arai holding the slats in place against the frame, and only a few corrections from Mori, he was quickly able to tap the nails in, and close the last of the gaps.

"It's just geometry," he pointed out as they worked, drawing the right angles and parallel lines with his fingertip, so Arai could see.    
To his credit, Arai didn't flinch when Mori brought the hammer down, inches from the boy's hand.  He only watched closely for the technique, and Mori explained that the trick was to look at the target, and nowhere else.

Arai blinked, and said, "Oh, it's like kicking a goal, then."  
Mori considered that.  "I guess."  He'd thought it was more like striking weak points on a sparring partner, but to each his own, he supposed.  Then on the last slat, he handed over the hammer and said, "Here, try it."

Arai accepted the hammer, but regarded it with deep distrust, as if it had wronged him in the past, and he wasn't convinced it was ready to change its ways.

"Um.  Are you sure this is a good idea?"  
"You can do it."  All he needed, Mori thought, was a little guidance.  So he shifted over on his knees, slightly behind Arai, saying, "I'll show you."

He reached for Arai's hand gripping the hammer, and closed his fingers lightly over his knuckles, guiding his arm upward.  The first nail was in the slat already, so it stayed put, and he handed the second nail around to Arai.  
"First, set this next to the other nail," he said.

The nail went up, and Mori eyeballed it.  "A little lower.  Try to make it parallel."  
Arai inched his hand down, and Mori said, "Good.  See how it's centered now?"

"Uh, sure," Arai answered, his voice tense and uncertain as the set of his shoulderblades against Mori's chest.

Maybe he was uncomfortable with such close contact in this heat--there hadn't been a breeze for several minutes now.  Or maybe, Mori thought, it was just the uncertainty of trying something new.  So he proceeded slowly.

"Watch the nail head," he instructed, guiding Arai's hand with the hammer up to shoulder-height.  "Now tilt your arm back--."  Arai stiffened and Mori paused.

"I'm going to brain you with this thing," Arai muttered over his shoulder.  Mori chuckled.  
"No you won't."  
"I'll smash my hand to a pulp.  Trust me, I've had all summer to practice."

Mori shook his head.  "Eyes on the nail," he said.  "I won't let you hit your hand."  
There came a resigned sigh, but Arai relaxed a fraction.  "If you say so."

"Don't try to swing."  Mori spread his fingers over Arai's knuckles, gripping the hammer.  "Let the weight do the work.  Let your eye guide it straight.  No hesitation, okay?"  
He felt Arai square his shoulders, saw him nod.  He drew their arms back slightly, said, "Ready--," and let Arai do the rest.

The hammer came down, hit the nail squarely, and sent it halfway into the wood.  Arai gasped in surprise, and Mori quickly urged, "Again, don't hesitate."    
He cocked their arms back, and Arai drove the hammer forward once more, scoring another perfect hit, and driving the nail home.

Arai shouted out in triumph, and pumped his arm in the air, brandishing the hammer in his other fist.  
"Yes!!  I did it!"

Mori sat back on his heels, neatly dodging the flailing arms of victory as Arai spun about, his whole body gathering for a messy, sprawling tackle.  Mori saw it coming, was braced and ready to hit the grass, when he saw Arai catch himself, rein his enthusiasm down into something manageable.

"You're the best teacher ever," he declared, and his smile was something to be measured in megawatts; so huge and bright it left an afterimage glowing on Mori's retinas.  Arai may as well have knocked him down after all; for some seconds he felt like he'd been whacked in the skull with a featherbed, left cheerfully dazed and tilting sideways.

He forgot that summer break was all but over, that he'd be leaving in the morning with his friends.  He forgot that he'd only seen Arai on three occasions altogether, and knew barely anything about him.  He forgot about all the stark differences between their lifestyles, and for the tiniest fraction of a microsecond, Mori even forgot about the one person his universe had always revolved around; his cousin Mitsukuni, napping innocently upstairs.

 _I think I love you_ , whispered a tiny voice in his mind, a meek hint of an idea out of nowhere.  It was such a small thought, but it swept everything else away.  Arai looked like he'd won the World Cup, Olympic Gold, and King of The World all at once, and didn't want anyone but Mori to share it with.  And nothing mattered to Mori but the pure, raw joy of being alive in that exact place, at that precise time.  

And the clincher, the part that set his heart to beating double-time, was when he looked into Arai's eyes, and recognized his own self reflected there.  Not some rumored version of him, or exagerrations with his approximate shape.  Just him.  Just Mori;  somehow Arai had found him, with no explanation necessary.  

Mori wished he had a snow globe, big enough to capture this moment and the two of them.  Then he would have all he wanted, and it would never have to change.

 

It was the nails that broke the spell.  He'd leaned back on his hands, just to look at Arai, meditate on him, and where one hand encountered prickly grass, the other landed on the pile of nails he'd forgotten.  The grass beneath took most of the pressure, but the surprising discomfort brought him directly back to reality.

"Ouch," said Arai, wincing in sympathy.  "You alright?"  
Mori shook his hand, said, "Yeah."  The skin wasn't broken, but there would be bruises for certain.  Concerned, Arai leaned in to see for himself.

"Looks like you were lucky," he said, tracing Mori's palm with one finger.  Mori shivered, and the things he'd briefly forgotten--all the facts and unknowns, and reasons-why-not--began returning to him in deep cold waves.  The sum of it was a few cruelly simple facts:  there would be no snow globe, no capturing this pure perfect moment.  The afternoon would end, and tomorrow would carry him away from here, back to home and school, and things going on as they had always been.

It was a dreary verdict and seeing it plain over his head, Mori didn't feel very lucky at all.  He felt like someone had dangled the promise of something extraordinary almost within his reach, and then snatched it away before he even had a chance to fully comprehend it.  He felt tired, cheated, and powerless.

"Hey," Arai ventured a hand on his shoulder, looking closely at him.  "You sure you're okay, Takashi-san?"  
"Hmm," he nodded, and looked down at the scattering of nails beside him.  What else could he say at that point?  _I wish I knew you better.  I wish we had more time.  I wish, I wish, I wish._

"I guess you'll want to call it a day on the fence then, huh?"  It was the resignation beneath the sympathy that got Mori's attention, and he looked up sharply.    
"I mean, it's practically done anyway," Arai said.  "I could um, stay here and clean up, if you want to go in and put some ice on your hand, or something."

Whatever the boy was trying to get across, Mori was having trouble filtering it from the transparently awkward politeness Arai was putting out.  He earnestly wanted to be of use, that much was clear.   But he seemed to want something else, too.  Something that basic decorum, or a fear of seeming selfish perhaps, prevented him from expressing. 

Well, he had pointed out the fence, still two nails short of a good job.  And with no other clue to go on, Mori plucked a pair of nails from the pile, and held them out to Arai.  

"You want to finish it?" he asked.

A wide pair of eyes stared back at him.  "Y-you mean me?  By myself?"  That surprise was almost comic, and against all odds, Mori felt his grin resurfacing.

"It's good to practice what you've learned," he said.

Arai rubbed the back of his neck, hesitating.  "You'll coach me though, right?"  

As though he wanted to make sure Mori would be there, that he wouldn't leave just yet.  And whether it was true or not, Mori found it comforting.  The end of the afternoon didn't seem quite so imminent, or so dire, if Arai wanted to keep him around a bit longer.  Perhaps he could just enjoy the time they had left, for now.  Worry about tomorrow when it came.

He met Arai's eyes and smiled.  
"Of course I will."

 

*  * * * *


	3. Chapter 3

Part Three

 

Hunny dreamt that Takashi was laughing.  It was a wonderful dream.  There was a party, with cake and sweets, and so many friends.  Takashi laughed out loud, and he was brilliant and handsome, and in the background champagne corks were popping, and their friends all applauded.  Hunny knew this party was for Takashi especially; it was what he'd always wanted, and everyone was celebrating, including Hunny, who was ecstatic.

Then gradually the dream changed, and there was no cake or guests, just a quiet room with pastel walls, and a ceiling fan turning lazily overhead.  But Takashi was still laughing out loud somewhere, and Hunny gradually came to realize he was awake, and smiling.

He climbed down from the bed, sleep tugging a little at his eyes and limbs, and went to the window.  What he saw when he pushed the shade up--it was so like his dream, and yet it wasn't, and he rubbed at his eyes and looked again to make sure.

It was Takashi down there, yes, kneeling on the back lawn, arms loose at his sides, head tilted back and laughing as if he hadn't a care in the world.  Nearby was Haruhi's friend Arai, that nice sunny boy who brought the most delicious fruits all the way from Karuizawa on his bicycle.  And they were laughing together, like Takashi had just said the funniest thing, and.....no.  No, it wasn't quite that.

Hunny folded his arms on the windowsill, rested his chin and looked harder.

Takashi occasionally said very funny things, usually when they were alone, and only Hunny could hear.  But it wasn't that kind of laughter he was hearing now.  This was the laughter you heard when all a person's happiness couldn't fit inside them anymore, and it came pealing out in a joyous noise, strong and bright, ringing everywhere.  

Hunny couldn't remember when his cousin had ever laughed like that, but it was--it did something amazing to him, transformed him completely, and Hunny drank in the sight to remember it, unable to help wondering if this boy Arai appreciated what he was seeing.

Though maybe that was the reason for it, Hunny reflected.  Because Arai couldn't know he was practically witnessing a miracle; he wouldn't expect Takashi to behave one way or another particularly, and so Takashi could express himself however he pleased.  And Arai was holding his sides, but he was also looking up at Takashi like Takashi had stood and hung the moon for him.  His face was a bright canvas of wonder, and admiration.

And maybe Hunny had spent too much time around Tamaki and Kyouya-kun lately, because he began having strange ideas just then.  He thought about posting a hundred men from the Haninozuka doujo around the lawn, to make sure nothing and no one intruded on Arai and Takashi.  He thought about writing up transfer papers on Ouran letterhead, so they could bring Arai with them.  Or calling that American military base his family had visited, finding out from their top scientists how to stop time in just one place, so Takashi and Arai would never have to leave.

They were outrageous ideas, crazy, but Hunny loved his friends, and he loved Takashi with a special fierceness.  Seeing Takashi so happy, and so free....oh, Hunny would've turned the world upside down if he thought it might help keep his cousin just like that, just as he was then.

But Hunny knew he couldn't.  He couldn't post guards, and he couldn't stop time, and he couldn't turn everyone's lives to chaos, because it wouldn't really help.  Life was more complicated than that, and no one could stay perfectly happy every single moment.

The tragedy of it all was that Takashi was so patient;  he endured without ever complaining, and if anyone deserved to laugh like that, and to have someone like Arai so obviously smitten with them, it was him.  Yet here they were, on the last day of vacation, and already the sun was tilting downward in the western sky.  Time wasn't going to stop for them, no matter what.

Carefully, Hunny drew back from the window, let the shade fall, and sighed for his cousin.

*  *

That evening was as subdued as the morning had been.  The rest of the club returned tired from a long day of sightseeing and shopping.  Haruhi appeared frazzled and out of sorts, Tamaki was on the verge of dropping in his tracks, and even the twins were unusually quiet; Kaoru draped long arms over his brother's shoulders, and Hikaru tilted his head against Kaoru's collarbone, making a curious double portrait: a mirror image propping up his counterpart.

Misuzu offered to make them all dinner, but Hikaru squirmed vaguely at the suggestion.  
"Ugh, no thanks.  Milord dragged us to every stall and snack place in town.  We've been eating all day."

"Don't be rude, Hikaru," Tamaki said, but it wasn't much of a reprimand.

"I'm sorry, I can't stay for dinner," said Arai.  "I need to make it back to town before dark."  
"What a shame," said Misuzu.  "I was going to serve the strawberries you brought for dessert."  
"Sorry," Arai repeated, looking sheepish.  "But I'm sure my uncle would send out more, if you like those."

Haruhi was slumped at the table on her elbows, looking like she'd had entirely too much company for the day.  But she roused herself to wish Arai a final good-bye.  
"It was good seeing you again," she said.  "And I know we'll be busy with school, but I'll try to stay in touch."

"Yeah," smiled Arai.  "Me too.  And hey," he added, "I'm glad I got to spend time with your friends."  He turned to the rest of the group.  "You guys could stay in touch too, huh?"

"Sure," Tamaki grinned tiredly.  "That would be nice."  
"Yeah," said Hikaru, with a smile that was genuine, if still slightly embarrassed over how they'd started out.  Kaoru nodded his agreement, and then Hunny spoke up.

"Oh, listen.  One of us should give Arai-kun a ride back to town.  So he doesn't have to ride his bike in the dark."

"That's not necessary," said Arai.  "I don't want to put you guys to any trouble--"  
But his protest came too late; Hunny was already considering logistics.  

"Tama-chan has to go the opposite direction," he said, "so that doesn't really work.  Why don't you ride with Takashi and me?  It wouldn't be any trouble, would it Takashi?"

"No, no trouble," Mori said, quietly, but promptly.  
Arai looked from Hunny to Mori, and keeping his eyes on Mori said, "Oh.  Well, if it's not a problem--."

"We'll take you," blurted Hikaru, surprising everyone.  "I mean, their homes aren't exactly on the way, but Kaoru and I practically go through town to get to our place."  
"That's true," said Kaoru, sitting up.  "We could take you right to your street."

And then Tamaki's comment more or less sealed the arrangement. "Good job," he told Hikaru, and though he looked half dead on his feet, it was clear he was very, very proud.

Hikaru reddened, ducked his head a little, and Arai, understanding it was a final peace offering, mustered a game grin for him.   
"Thanks, Hikaru."  

Over at the group's far edge, Mori's shoulders inched downward in a barely audible sigh.

 

*  *

"I'm sorry, Takashi," Hunny said, once they were in the car, moving steadily down the dark country road.  "I tried."

After a long while, Mori said, "Don't be sorry.  It's okay."  Staring out the tinted windows into darkness.

"It was a good thing Hika-chan did," Hunny mused.  "Maybe Kaoru's lesson to him made a difference after all."

"Hmm," said Mori.

"And maybe we'll see Arai again.  In Tokyo, or next summer."

"....Maybe so."

 

*  *  *  *  *

[ _end Book One_ ]


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